


Of Suns and Werewolves

by SplinteredSunlight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comforting Derek Hale, Eternal Sterek, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Derek Hale, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Allison Argent, Mentioned Jennifer Blake, Mentioned Kate Argent, Mentioned Lydia Martin, Original Character(s), Realization, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Wolfsbane Poisoning, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinteredSunlight/pseuds/SplinteredSunlight
Summary: Derek felt a surge of sickly-sweet feeling wash over himself. Was this happiness? Maybe that's why it felt sickening at first. He forgets how much pain he was in, a minute ago. This human, whom he had pushed around and slammed against every flat surface he had found was ready to avenge the wrong that was done to him.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 155





	Of Suns and Werewolves

The buzzing of the streetlamps is the only sound that keeps him company as he walks along the pavement. Occasionally his ears catch the sound of some distant barks of street dogs. Stiles feels weary by the passing of every second and his pace increases with every corner he turns. He regrets how he chose to finish his homework at the library even though he could have done it at his home in the warmth of his room. But he had spent quite some money on the library card when he had resolved to bring his life back on track at the beginning of the year. He had also gotten himself a gym membership in honor of the same enthusiasm, which had cost him quite a fortune. Sadly, he had never woken up in time to visit the gym and invest a good time on working out. Plus, he had that self-improvement thing going on about himself whose primary aim was to achieve better grades, and by the end of January, he had understood that it was impossible for him to juggle gym and education and the freelancing of content writing all at once. So now, the gym card is just an accessory in his wallet, to make him feel guilty every time he would think about buying junk food. And Stiles was absolutely fine with it, the guilt trip, every time he opened his wallet to pay for the pizza. But his library card in the wallet's first compartment made him proud. He had been reading a few classics just for the sake of it. He hated non-fictional books, but he didn't intend to invest his time in the writings of those modern authors and writers which were available on the internet, so he manipulated his brain into reading something that was entirely fictional, but had a sort of burdensome feeling about it. For instance, he was currently reading The Time Machine to soothe his heart with its sci-fi content, but it also didn't feel like an effortless thing to do, since he had trouble concentrating with the kind of sequence of events the plot had, for it was written way back and had the kind of monotonous pace about it which used to be a thing back then. Well, that's what Stiles felt. He wanted to feel that kind of pleasure he had felt after finishing off with Old Man and The Sea and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. But the enthusiasm was wearing off with this book and he contemplates whether he should just take a break and read one of those John Green novels Lydia keeps telling him about. Or maybe he can read Cujo, the only Stephen King novel Scott had suggested to him the same number of times he had suggested him to watch Star Wars.  
  
Lost in his thought, Stiles doesn't notice the man who was walking towards the alley with wobbly feet. He notices the man only when he slams himself against the wall and the clattering of an empty coke can rolling across the concrete in the quiet of the night startles him. Stiles instinctively stops in his tracks and clutches his phone, ready to use it as a weapon if the crackhead came at him. The said man steadies himself and tries to stand erect, looks up and then falls back leaning against the wall. Seeing the man in such a helpless and miserable condition, Stiles takes pity on him and decides to go and see if he could help him with the spare water he had in his backpack. He didn't look like he could raise his hand, so the idea of him hurting Stiles was quite farfetched.  
  
The closer Stiles got to the fallen man, the more his features struck him with familiarity until he realized who it was. Stiles couldn't believe his eyes. It was Derek. Stiles stopped for a fraction of second before almost hurling himself towards him. Upon skidding into a halt near him, he saw Derek, laying there unconscious, his moss green Henley torn in places and soiled with dried blood, his black trousers slashed in the thighs and along the shin bones from which peeked his blood-drenched skin, and his left arm which had a gaping wound made possibly with a knife, a knife dipped in wolfsbane, was oozing brownish blood, as angry blue and scarlet veins ran along his skin, disappearing underneath his sleeve. Stiles couldn't comprehend what he was seeing and his mind went blank for a while. But then a whimper escaped from the wounded man and Stiles was hauled out of his trance.  
  
"DEREK?! DEREK, CAN YOU HEAR ME? OH MY GOD. DEREK?" Stiles calls out to him with utter desperation and kneels beside him. But he is answered with nothing more than a deep exhale. He grabs his shoulder gingerly, taking much care about not hurting him and rolls him over. Pouring some water in his palm he splashes it on Derek's face and wipes out the blood clots from the corner of his mouth before parting his lips and pouring some of the water in his mouth. Derek gasps and splutters when a considerable amount of the water reaches his throat. He raises his head and opens his eyes wide and sighs, "Stiles?" and then falls back down unconscious.  
  
"No! No no no. Oh fuck, no! … Derek? Fuck!" Stiles cries out as he shakes him by holding his head in his palms. He lets go of him and tries unlocking his phone but the fingerprint sensor doesn't work with all the blood and water and dirt on his thumb, so he begins typing in his 17-letter long passcode and succeeds after three failed attempts. His fingers were shaking the whole time he scrolled through his contacts and ended up calling a few unnecessary people before finally tapping on the icon of Scott's contact and calling him.  
  
Scott picks up after the second ring.  
  
"Brooooo… Sup?"  
  
"Scott! Scott! Its Derek. He's…"  
  
"Wait, what? What the fuck did he do again? Did he…"  
  
"SCOTT! LET ME FINISH! DEREK IS FUCKING DYING! GET YOUR ASS HERE WITH YOUR MOM'S CAR! WE HAVE TO TAKE HIM HOME!"  
  
"What?? Okay, okay… out of the house right now. (MOOO…OOOM? I need the car, will explain later. Bye.) … In the car! Coming!"  
  
"Be fast. Please." Stiles says as he hangs up. He texts him the link to his GPS location and sits down next to Derek.  
  
People were walking in twos or threes on the other side of the road, but they were so far away that they were oblivious about whatever was happening on this side of the street.  
  
Stiles had the blueprint of the entire plan in his head about what he was about to do with Derek. After that incident when Kate had shot Derek with the wolfsbane bullet, Stiles, with Dr. Deaton's help, had collected tiny jars of most of the kinds of Wolfsbane the doctor had in stock. He was terrified of the day when Scott might be dying because of a wolfsbane bullet and neither Deaton nor Chris Argent might be there to help him, thus he had to be prepared for such a calamity. He had read a lot of articles and consulted Satomi and Peter and Deaton himself about how he can use it to defend himself as well as save his werewolf contacts. Thankfully, his father knew about the existence of such creatures so, that would save him a great deal of sweating and brain-work while coming up with a believable excuse about why he had jars of weird-looking powder in one of his desks. As a cop, it would have been his first instinct to qualify them as illicit drugs.  
  
A pair of headlights appear at the end of the street and comes to a halt and Scott comes out running towards him.  
  
"Oh god! How did this happen?!"  
  
"I don't know Scott, but we have to do something. Help me get him in the backseat."  
  
Scott lifts him up with ease and does as he is told.  
  
"My place! ASAP!" Stiles says as he gets in the passenger's side.  
  
After a couple of minutes, with Stiles relaying everything that had happened, they finally reach his place and Scott carries him up to his bedroom and places him on the floor.  
  
"Aeeee this is fucked up man. What are we gonna do? Deaton's not even here and …"  
  
"Shh, Scott, that's why I need you."  
  
"What? Bro, incase you didn't notice, he's got Aconitum Anthora poisoning his bloodstream, I'm sure the local florist will be very pleased to hear of it if we barged in at her place in this hour. And yes, I know what the scientific name of yellow monkshood is. Allison apparently thinks I should know my enemy."  
Stiles opens his drawer and takes out the jar that is labeled with the scientific name Scott just said and takes out the matchbox from his shelf. He turns back at him and smirks.  
  
"And that is exactly why I needed 'you' to bring him to my place. Now, are you 110% sure that this is the same aconite that is in the jar? Here…" Stiles holds the jar to his nose and Scott's eyes begin to glow.  
  
"Yes!" Scott grunts, voice already changed into an animalistic growl.  
  
"Good. Now I want you to hold him still."  
  
Stiles pours some rubbing alcohol into a wet wipe and cleans up the wounds of an unconscious Derek. He then brings out an iron lid of an old geometry box and pours a generous amount of the yellow powder on it. He lights up three candles, placing them parallelly and holds the lid on the flames. He strikes another matchstick and drops it among the powder. They begin to crackle and the flame from the matchstick goes out. In a rapid movement, he empties the contents on one of his flashcards and pours half of it inside Derek's open wound which had already started to ooze blood again. With the rest of the powder applied to all the visible wounds, Stiles finally lets out the breath that he doesn't remember holding in.  
  
His eyes fall on Scott's claws which he was desperately trying not to dig into Derek's skin. His face was turned away and Stiles could see that his eyes were shut tight. Stiles knew that he was the only one who could stand being near wolfsbane for so long without losing complete control over himself. Scott had that one amazing thing about his instincts, it was his will power and his willingness to give up everything for the sake of the ones he loved. He had once confided to him while getting completely drunk (on Tropicana infused with wolfsbane), that after Liam became his beta, he had felt the whole impact of the words that Derek had told him while saving him from the hunters a couple of days after he was bitten: 'We're brothers now.' Even though Scott wasn't Derek's beta, the latter had been with him through thick and thin. Scott had understood and been influenced by the pack mentality since then and he had Derek to thank for it. Derek was family. Just like Stiles himself was to him. Only, Stiles was more like a blood brother. He smiles faintly and grabs his hand softly.  
  
"Scotty, hey. It's done. Do you wanna go to the living room?"  
  
Scott puts on his signature puppy dog eyes as he retreats backward as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning and curls his lips apologetically. "I'll be fine. I just…"  
  
Both of their eyes shoot back at Derek when they hear his rasped breathing. His face gets all scrunched up in acute agony and Scott comes rushing to his side and grabs his hand to take away the pain. Derek's entire body convulses and shivers at the same time. He blindly tries to move away from the warmth of Scott's touch. Scott, bares his teeth out as the black veins of pain that he's extracting from Derek reaches his neck. Stiles makes a run for ice and cold compresses and comes back in a matter of seconds. The tremors in Derek's body were now occasional and Scott was grabbing on to him with both of his hands, trying to absorb the last of his pain until Derek went all 'No Touchy' on him.  
  
"Derek?!" yells Stiles as he resists the urge to go and hug him out of pure happiness. Derek looks up at him with his usual disappointed glare, but it softens for a while and there's a faint and tired smile in his lips. Stiles looks back at Scott who was lying on the floor out of over-exhaustion. "Welcome back Derek," he says as he lifts himself with all the lethargy in the world. He offers them a sheepish grin and attempts to leave, "I need to lie down and die for a while. I'm taking the couch downstairs. If you need anything, please don't wake me up. I'll see you guys tomorrow."  
  
He has barely reached the foot of the stairs when Stiles comes running to him, "Scott? He needs to clean up and I think he needs help and I think that you're the only one who can help, because you guys are…"  
  
Scott falls face-first into the couch and mumbles, "Tomorrow… I need sleep…" Soon after, the sound of his steady breathing fills the room and Stiles runs back upstairs.  
  
There too, he's greeted with another situation. Derek had taken off his shirt and was trying very hard to apply the wolfsbane to the stab-wound right below his triskelion tattoo.  
  
"Hey! Hey, Woah, big guy, let me get that for you." Stiles says as he pinches the powder off Derek's finger and presses it to the wound. The skin on his back had splotches of blood all over it even though there were no scars or wounds, or maybe they had healed, leaving behind the traces of blood. Only then does Stiles realize that Derek needed to take a bath immediately because the rotten death-like smell was causing tremors in Stiles' stomach making him gag reflexively. Derek probably senses Stiles' discomfort and moves away towards the bathroom. Stiles rushes to his dresser and digs out a pair of dark grey sweatpants (that he had bought for gym classes, but obviously, he had found no reason to wear them) and throws them at Derek.  
  
"You smell ridiculous as fuck, bro. The towels are stacked inside, and there are soaps and everything else you need. I don't have any shirts that might fit you, so… wait, you can wear my 'Mets' jersey, hold on." Stiles runs back to his dresser and finds the jersey neatly packed in a plastic bag. He thrusts it in Derek's hand not letting him protest in anyway and shoves him into the bathroom.  
Stiles comes back to his bed and takes out his phone to be greeted with three missed calls from Melissa, and one from his dad. There is also a text from Scott that reads:  
  
>Text my mom about what happened.  
  
>Minus the pain and brutality.  
  
<On it.  
  
Stiles drinks some water and begins typing:  
  
<Hey, so, I think some hunters got to Derek and slashed him with wolfsbane knives. But he's okay now. We brought him to my place. He's completely healed.  
  
<Scott is staying over. He's sleeping downstairs.  
  
<Thanks a lot for the car. Love you. See you soon.  
  
He then copies the first two texts and send them to his dad, to which he receives an immediate reply:  
  
>Interesting. Why not at Deaton's?  
  
>Nevermind.  
  
>There's some food in the refrigerator. Heat it up before you eat it. Won't be back until tomorrow noon, the Commissioner is visiting tomorrow morning and we've got a lot on our plates.  
  
<Daaaa…aad, don't be mad. I have not missed out on a single class this month.  
  
<Also, Deaton's not here.  
  
<Good luck with the commissioner. You're the protector of the realm. You guys are the best.  
  
<Can I order a pizza?  
  
>No.  
  
< :(  
  
Stiles turns his face into the sad emoji as he lays on his back and his eyelids begin to flutter shut. Suddenly it occurs to him that he didn't hear the water running, and it had been a long time since Derek entered the bathroom. He walks to the door, and knocks.  
  
"Derek? You okay?"  
  
"Yeah!" Comes a muffled reply.  
  
Is he crying? Is he in pain? He's supposed to, but not so much that he'd sound disoriented like that.  
  
"You don't sound okay. I'm coming in." Stiles waits for 10 seconds to let him cover himself up and then enters the bathroom.  
  
He sees Derek sitting underneath the sink, arms crossed across his torso as if he's hugging himself. He had probably splashed some water in his face because his hands seemed cleaner than the rest of the body and there were the clean lines of droplets that had slithered down his chest through the blood and the dirt. Hearing Stiles come in he hastily attempts to wipe at his eyes but ends up whimpering as he breaks down and crumples up like a sheet of paper. And Stiles runs to him and hugs him as tight as he could, totally disregarding the stench.  
  
There is something about strong people breaking down like that, it triggered a tsunami of emotions in Stiles every time something like that happened. He had felt terrible when Detective Rosa Diaz from Brooklyn Nine-Nine had cried, when Sherlock had felt helpless and miserable, well, there were countless instances. Derek, who had held up a façade of a mighty 'Big brother to the rescue' thing about himself, the 'Emotions? What emotions?' kind of vibe, was so broken that he had crumbled down like a tower of dominoes in an earthquake and 'that' hit Stiles hard. As if someone had ripped his heart right out of his chest and put it in a grinder. The older man shook underneath his body as faint sobs escaped his chest uncontrollably until he stopped trying to hold them back at all. Stiles probably understood what was going on inside his mind. He was probably remembering his mother; about how horrible the hatred had been in Kate's heart that she had no trouble coming up and implementing her plans on burning his house down to the ground. He was probably remembering his sister – Cora; about how much hatred existed among their own kind that Aiden had given her a fatal head injury. There was hatred everywhere. Derek had known what love was, when his own family was alive when his illusions about Kate hadn't been shattered, when he thought Jennifer had loved him until she had used her sister as a pawn for getting what she wanted, but he hadn't 'felt' love since a while. What he had felt, physically and mentally, was disgust and detestation. He probably wondered what he had done to the humans, the ones brimming with humanity, that they wanted to fatally injure him and leave him for dead. Stiles was shaking in fury, the more he thought about all that, the more his blood boiled. He holds his head and stares into his glossed emerald eyes for a long while, noting the puffiness and exhaustion in them, and the sorrow. Oh god, the sorrow!  
  
He is loud and clear as he spits out his next words: "Who did this? Just tell me who did this. And I'll find a way to wipe them out from this earth. Derek, I swear to god, I'll fucking do it. I don't care if I am hanged for that, it's so gonna be worth it."  
A few droplets glide down his cheek as Derek gazes at the 150-pound human in front of him in disbelief. The one who just spoke all those words right now with such conviction that his heart didn't skip a beat even once. Why can't all of them be like him? There were few. Of course, like his closest friend Chris Argent and Braeden and Dr. Deaton, but if only there were more humans like Stiles, he wouldn't have had to see this day. And that's when it comes to him. That courage is not what is measured in violence and dominance upon the weak, but was probably standing alongside them at their weakest point. No matter how strong or how weak either of them was, it was about compassion, the support; those qualities that made the weak feel confident and fearless. And Derek felt a surge of sickly-sweet feeling wash over himself. Was this happiness? Maybe that's why it felt sickening at first. He forgets how much pain he was in, a minute ago. This human, whom he had pushed around and slammed against every flat surface he had found was ready to avenge the wrong that was done to him.  
  
He was broken out of his epiphany when Stiles asks again: "Derek? My dad is a sheriff. If you tell me their names, my dad can bring them in for interrogation and Kira is studying for law college, she can totally manage to send them behind the bars and confiscate their weapons. Just tell me. Please?"  
  
"Stiles…" interrupts Derek. He is bad at words and feelings and doesn't know what to say, "This can wait. For now. I will let Chris and Braeden know and they'll figure this out somehow."  
  
Stiles purses his lips in acknowledgment, but he doesn't say anything, so Derek continues, "Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything." He notices a tiny bit of change in his expression since he had taken Braeden's name, the fact that he had noticed it was when his heart had skipped a beat right at the moment her name had left his mouth. Did Stiles think that Braeden was a more trustworthy and efficient choice since she was a mercenary? Derek could smell the desperation in him. He can see the dejection in his cinnamon eyes. Oh no, he needs to do something about it, he deserves nice things and Stiles Stilinski is a nice thing.  
  
Of course Stiles was thinking what Derek suspected. He was an expert in overthinking and overanalyzing, even though he wasn't a student of literature. But he said nothing. He was kind of surprised when Derek thanked him. He knew that it was too much, coming from a person who's default expression was a scowl and conversation was not something he indulged in. He smiles at him. His mind comes back to the previous thought, of course Braeden, she's one of the coolest humans Stiles knew, and she knew how to get the job done. There was the mind-body co-ordination that Stiles lacked severely. And she was hot, which Stiles was not, and wait, when did this get there??  
Stiles was about to stand and leave, lost in his thought, but Derek pulls him down on him. "Please. Don't go. Stay." Derek's eyes go dark in fear. Fear of abandonment?  
  
But Stiles sees something more than that, he was looking at Stiles like a man who looks at the sun, after being trapped in a basement for so long that he had lost track of time.  
  
Oh no, Derek shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have shown how desperate he was for affection, for hope. Yeah, hope. Stiles was his ray of hope. He was his ray of sun. He was like a sun to a man who had been locked up…  
  
Stiles doesn't let Derek bring his train of thought to a conclusion. In fact, the train is thrown off its tracks into a cosmos, well, that's what Derek sees. Stars. Stars everywhere, as Stiles crushes his mouth on his in the softest, yet in the roughest way possible. His long bony fingers find their way among Derek's hair, while Derek's palms find themselves slipping underneath his shirt and rest on his sides, holding him as close to him as possible, kissing him with caution, until they found their tongues and lips moving in synchronization, dancing in their harmony.  
  
When Stiles stops to take a deep breath and is greeted with the rancid stench, he scoots backward, climbing off whom he had been unknowingly hugging like a koala and whispers,  
  
"You really need to take a bath."  
  
Derek answers with an apologetic smile, "Yeah. Sorry." But then he sees the mischievous grin on Stiles' face as he eyes the bathtub. "What?" he asks.  
  
"Well, can I stay for the show?" Stiles asks meekly, the cheeky grin never living his face.  
  
"You can get a lead role in the said show if you'd like." comes Derek's reply, surprising his own self.  
  
Stiles' jaw drops at the facetious side of Derek Hale. He takes a moment to receive its full impact and exclaims: "Damn right I do!"  
He turns on the tap and lets the tub fill.  
  
Then there is a lot of steam that fills the room and it gets all foggy and … no, they don't have sex in the bathtub. They do kiss each other though. A lot.  
  
Stiles comes out of the bathroom at first to clear out the bed of the books and stationaries that always used to take up one side.  
Well, now his bed needed room for two.  
  
He takes the side with the wall and waits for Derek to come out, and when he does, Stiles sees the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.  
  
DEREK HALE. IN A METS JERSEY (and the grey sweat pants that Stiles chooses to ignore).  
  
A WET DEREK HALE IN A METS JERSEY!  
  
Stiles loses his cool and screams a bit too loud: "FUCK ME!!"  
  
From downstairs comes Scott's voice almost immediately: "NOT WITH ME IN THE SAME HOUSE!" and shortly after, follows the loud bang of the front door shutting and Scott's car speeding away.  
  
They stand in silence for a couple of seconds until they break out into laughter, and then they get underneath the sheets and fall asleep with their hearts and their bodies warm with each other's presence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou very much for reading this. It could possibly be my best work, yet. YET.  
> Let me know if you love it as well.  
> Follow me on instagram: @easternsummer.
> 
> I had no one to beta read this. Please forgive me for the mistakes that I overlooked...


End file.
